I want to be with Jude on the campaign trail. Not because he’s campaigning, but because I always want to be wherever he is. But it’ll be near impossible to do my job from the campaign trail.
This job requires in-person contact, and DC is where I have most of my meetings. I occasionally have some in Chicago or New York, but most political back-and-forth happens in the nation’s capital. If I’m on the road with Jude, I’d barely have time for a few phone calls and emails every day. That’s not the kind of job I want to be doing.
And then there’s the truth that’s been nagging in the back of my mind all day—how can I claim to be working to create bipartisanship when I’m actively stumping for a Republican candidate, even if he is my husband? His opponent is no fool, and she’ll be telling the power players in the Democratic Party that I’m all talk about being middle of the road.
I scoop the last bite of rice from the white box and toss the container into the trash can, returning to my desk. If I had a couch in my office, that’s where I’d be sleeping tonight. Instead, I’ll probably take an Uber to my hotel around ten, talk to Jude, and then crash before getting up in the morning to do it all over again.
I’m enormously proud of Jude and his campaign for governor. But if I went with him on the campaign trail, I’d be there as his wife. He’d have my emotional support. I could charm crusty old donors and chat up women he’s seeking support from. We’d go to bed together every night.
But Jude has a talented staff to help him with his campaign. He wants me there, but he doesn’t need me. The independent woman in me needs to keep some things for myself, and my career means a lot to me.
He’s so domineering that I don’t think he’d hear me if I tried to tell him all of this. I don’t even know how to say it in a way he’d listen to. Jude is like a tall, looming ocean wave—inescapable and all-consuming. We’d just end up fighting, and I hate that.
So, for now, I’m keeping these thoughts to myself. Jude needs to focus on his work, and I need to focus on mine. He’s likely to get so busy he’ll forget about asking me to join him on the campaign trail anyway, so why invite trouble?
8
Jude
Louis Branch stares at me over the rim of his brandy. “While you’re an honorable man and possibly the best candidate for governor, we still have concerns.”
I dip my head, gripping the armrests of the chair a little tighter. The man has been hung up on Reagan since the moment we sat down. He’s mentioned her name at least ten times, bringing her father into the conversation too. I’m beyond annoyed, but somehow, I maintain my cool. Coming from a military background, I know how to stay calm in a sticky situation, but politics is another beast and my wife is completely off-limits. “I understand your concerns, but my private life is just that…private.”
Tyson adjusts in his seat, clearing his voice because he doesn’t like my tone. The glance he shoots across the table is anything but pleasant. “What Jude’s trying to say…”
“I know exactly what I’m trying to say,” I interrupt Tyson, waving him off with my hand to silence him. “Politics is something my wife and I don’t discuss in the privacy of our home. Just as I don’t discuss my wife when it comes to my campaign and political office.”
“I see,” Thomas Branch says before taking a sip of his brandy, staring at me the same way his brother is. “We both understand separating our business and personal lives, Mr. Titan, but every man at this table knows that women have a way of…what’s the word I’m—”
“Playing with our heads until they get their way,” Louis finishes the statement and laughs, placing his glass on the table in front of him. “I know my wife always has an opinion.” He twists the base of his snifter against the crisp white linen and shakes his head. “And her opinions sometimes affect my decisions.”
“My wife is not short on opinions, that I can assure you. But she plays no role in my decisions. We’re too opposite of each other to ever allow the political realm to enter our home. She has her work, which she enjoys and keeps her focused on her goals, and I have my work, which I believe is important, and I work my ass off to represent my constituents.”
“I’m sure your father-in-law has things to say.”
I lean forward and fold my hands together on top of the table. “My father-in-law is a piece of shit. He has no part in my life or my campaign. I married his daughter, not the man.”
“How did you convince a woman with such a deep political background and fierce spirit to quit the race?” Louis asked, taking another sip. His eyes don’t waver from mine.
I laugh at the absurdity of his statement. “You don’t make a woman like Reagan do anything, Mr. Branch.”
“Maybe she’s secretly a Republican,” Thomas says.
“I can assure you that’s not the case.” The statement is so absurd, I can’t say anything more.
Louis shoves his hand inside his suit jacket, retrieving his checkbook. “Mr. Titan,” he says, twisting the top of his pen, “I feel you’re a man of your word. I’ve never heard anything to contradict my perception of you. Over the last five years, you’ve never swayed from your original platform and have remained true to your constituents.”
Tyson smirks as he watches Louis Branch write out the check. He’s practically salivating at all the zeros. I, on the other hand, am wondering if they’re just a more reputable version of Mr. Marino, hiding behind their fancy suits and corporations. Behind that much wealth, there’s always a dark side. No one becomes as powerful as the Branch brothers without bending a few rules and strong-arming a few people, including politicians.
Mr. Branch tears off the check, and he slides the tiny slip of paper across the table but doesn’t lift his fingers. “We have faith in you. Don’t let us down.”
There’s a seriousness to his tone I haven’t heard before. Every dollar I take toward my campaign feels like I’m digging a hole filled with favors and IOUs. I thought my race for Senate was a pain in the ass, but it doesn’t hold a candle to running for governor.
“I will stay true to my platform and the promises I make to the voters.”
He stares at me for a moment, probably wondering if that means I’d bow to his wishes when he finally decides to put pressure on me about some issue that could affect Branch Enterprises. But what he doesn’t know is his donation is just that and nothing more. It’s not a promise for a future favor or passing legislation that’ll hurt the people I serve while making him richer.
He taps the check with his fingernail before finally pulling his hand away. I don’t move right away, never wanting to seem too eager to take money from anyone because that’s the way I’m built.
But Tyson, he’s nothing like me, and he snatches the check off the table, folding it neatly before stowing it away in his jacket pocket. “Thank you.” Tyson’s smile widens. “We’ll put this to good use.”
Pushing back from the table, I shake Louis’s and Thomas’s hands before I make up some bullshit to excuse myself from the final small talk. The last thing I want is to sit there and listen to the three of them talk about Washington and “old times.”
I walk into my room, shrugging off my suit jacket and loosening my tie. More than anything, including sitting with the three men downstairs, I want to see my wife’s face. I fire up the laptop, making myself comfortable on the bed while I wait for her to answer my online call.
After three short rings, her beautiful face fills my screen. “Hey, handsome,” she says, leaning forward and pushing the laptop across the bed to get comfortable.
My gaze dips to her breasts as they practically spill out of her top. “Hey, beautiful. I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you too.” She frowns as her eyes drop to the mattress for a moment. “How did your meeting go with the Branch brothers?”
Leaning backward, I pull the laptop across my legs and ease back into the pillows. “The same shit as always. They think I’m in their back pocket.” Reagan watches me as I remove my tie, her e
yes following my hands carefully.
“We both know that’s never going to happen. Not with the Branch brothers, at least.”
I know where she’s going. Or, at least, where she could go after that statement. Probably some small little innocent jab about Dominic Marino. “Enough about work. Show me your magnificent tits.” I give her a quick wink, being playful but dead fucking serious.
Reagan smirks, lifting herself on her elbows just enough that I can see down her shirt. “Oh, you’re in a classy mood. You mean these?” she asks, jiggling her breasts right into the camera.
“I’m too horny for classy, baby. Come on. Just a small peek.”
The camera dips as she sits upright, crossing her legs in front of her body. “This is like old times,” she says as she fumbles with the buttons on her blouse, moving so slowly I swear she’s trying to torture me.
“I remember you being faster than this,” I tease her as I place the laptop between my legs.
She smiles as she spreads open just enough of her shirt to show me the swells of her breasts, but not enough. “If I’m showing you mine, you have to show me yours too. It’s only fair.” She quirks an eyebrow.
I laugh softly, shaking my head as I pull off my dress shirt and throw it to the floor. I have no problem showing Reagan everything I have, but she’s going to do the same. The distance is becoming unbearable, and we’ve only been apart a few days. The only thing I want is to sink between my wife’s legs and listen to her moan my name. I don’t want to be alone in an overpriced hotel room. I miss the days of her being in the next room and finding reasons and ways to see her.
“Happy now?” I ask, moving farther away from the camera to give her a better view.
“Pants too,” she says, almost giggling.
“Do the same,” I tell her, and I’m almost giddy. I remember the last time we had virtual sex over the internet, and it was hot as fucking hell.
I’m all in, totally excited about the entire thing and yanking down my pants like a pubescent virgin teenager with a raging hard-on. She scrambles off the bed, away from the camera, but I can hear the rustling of her clothes.
I practically dive back onto the bed and immediately wrap my hand around my cock, ready to put on a show for my wife. She has a fascination with watching me masturbate. Something I taunt her with often. But she doesn’t know I have the same fascination; watching her touch herself is unlike anything in the world.
Reagan slides across the mattress, resting her head on her elbow as she watches me. I could give a fuck what she’s looking at as I zero in on her luscious breasts, wishing I could touch them.
“Baby, lemme see your pussy,” I tell her, tightening my grip around my shaft, pretending my palm is her beautiful cunt.
“Jude,” Tyson calls, knocking on my hotel room door.
“Fuck,” I hiss and tip my head back, praying he’ll just go away.
Reagan smiles and bites her lip, clearly hearing Tyson’s voice and the repeated tap on the door.
“I can see your light on through the peephole, asshole. Open up.”
My hard-on instantly dies in my palm. Not even the little peep show my wife’s giving me, fucking with my head as she does, can maintain my rock-hard cock.
“You’d better go,” she says, spreading her legs open just to make the entire situation worse. “I’m gonna finish what we started. You have fun with Tyson.”
I growl and reach for the laptop, trying to get a better look before the screen goes black.
“I fucking hate Tyson,” I mutter as I climb off the bed, knowing that what started out as a great end to my evening has died… right there with my cock.
9
Reagan
Andrea Matisse is not what I expected. Our lunch at a small café has lasted nearly two hours, and I’m not ready for it to end, even though I have another meeting soon.
With her platinum blond hair that falls just past her ears, brown-framed glasses, black linen pants and a pretty dark green blouse, I can see why she is so successful in fashion. Andrea doesn’t look like everyone else. She has her own style and no concern for whether anyone else approves of it. Even the wrinkles at the corners of her fifty-something eyes seem fashion-forward.
“Part of me misses talking about fashion every day at a microscopic level,” she confesses. “Not just the trends, but the whys behind them. I’d spend hours in meetings about jewelry or hats, listening to my editors pitching articles about fresh ways to cover them.”
She shrugs. “But now, I never have to do anything I don’t want to do. As a magazine publisher, I had to sit through lots of meetings that weren’t my cup of tea.”
“Meetings are my life when I’m here,” I say.
“And most of them must be with blowhard politicians who like nothing more than the sound of their own voice.”
She wrinkles her nose with distaste, and I laugh.
“There’s definitely some of that,” I admit.
“So, do you talk to your husband about your work?”
“Some. We both try to avoid the things we know will cause a fight.”
Andrea arches a brow. “Between a Republican and a Democrat, isn’t that everything?”
“Not really. Jude and I actually agree on a lot. Too many people in politics focus on what divides us rather than what unites us.”
The waiter approaches, and Andrea nods her approval for two more glasses of wine. Fortunately, my next meeting is with my boss, who knows I’m here and will be thrilled the meeting is running late.
“Tell me some of the things you agree on,” she says, looking at me over the rim of her glasses.
“Let’s see…equality. Jude served with people of all races and backgrounds, and he firmly believes we all deserve the same rights and opportunities.”
Andrea is studying me as she says, “Yes, we deserve that, but do we have it?”
“No. Not even close. One of the things I miss most about being a state rep was working for the marginalized.”
“A privileged white girl like you?”
“Yes. I was raised by a strong mother who came from a poor family. She reminded us often how fortunate we were. We volunteered at homeless shelters growing up, and those experiences really stayed with me.”
“Good for you.”
I thank the waiter for the glass of wine he sets down and continue. “Jude and I both believe in education. We’re for increased funding for public education, preschool, and college. Our country has a lot of bright kids who deserve the same opportunities kids from affluent areas have.”
“Agreed.” Andrea takes a sip of her wine. “What’s something you two disagree on?”
“Ah…we try not to talk about those things.” I laugh nervously.
“Worried I’ll leak it to the media?” She gives me a shrewd look.
My cheeks warm at the way she read my mind.
“Don’t worry, dear. I avoid the media above all others. And you know I keep to myself. Our conversation stays between us. You have my word.”
“I trust you.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and clear my throat. “Gun control is something Jude and I never discuss. And while I may not agree with his views, I do respect them. His military service is part of why he feels the way he does, and as someone who didn’t serve, I don’t think I get to judge his views.”
“Spoken like a true diplomat.” Andrea smiles at me across the table.
“I know some politicians double-talk. My father used to say that believing in everything is the same as believing in nothing. I’m not trying to talk my way around anything, I just think that we’re never going to get anywhere if we keep belittling others and taking hard-line stances. Compromise is everything. Not just in politics, but in life.”
“And when are you running for office again?” Andrea’s eyes twinkle as she speaks. “You’ve got my vote.”
“Ah, that’s awfully nice, Mrs. Matisse.”
“Andrea, remember?”
“Y
es—Andrea, I mean. I don’t want to hold office again. I realized I’m a much better behind-the-scenes person.”
“Behind the scenes for your husband?”
I consider. “Sometimes. But also for causes I believe in.”
“Hmm. I feel the same way about what I do.”
I can’t help a slight laugh. “Andrea, you’re anything but behind the scenes. You change people’s lives. The money you gave for that clean water initiative in Africa saves lives every day. My work is nothing compared to what you do.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Bipartisanship can create change that will transform lives.”
“I hope so.”
Andrea takes a silver tube of lipstick from her bag and applies a neutral nude shade. “And do you love your work, Reagan?”
“I do.”
“What’s one thing you’ve done at this job that made you feel amazing?”
I furrow my brow as I consider. “Well…I’m still fairly new. I guess, if I’m being completely honest, getting this lunch with you would be my answer.”
Andrea laughs at that. “Because I’m the elusive billionaire everyone wants a piece of?”
“No.” I smile. “Well, sort of. I mean, there’s that. But also because of the work you’ve done. I read that Time article about the scholarship program you created. And when you said the wealthy can waste away their lives on yachts or they can make the world a better place…it resonated with me.”
She’s giving me that studious look over the rim of her glasses again. “From what I read, you’ve been on the job for more than a year now. That’s not ‘fairly new’ in my mind.”
My cheeks warm. “I guess you’re right.”
Andrea sits back in her chair, quiet for a few seconds. “And still nothing accomplished that you love, outside of this meeting.”
“I love the mission I’m working toward,” I clarify. “I believe deeply in it.”
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